


Morning Light

by DevilishKurumi



Series: Midlife Crisis [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Morning Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave shows up alone at Sollux's apartment and despite Sollux's best efforts, he is not taking any of this "I'm too old" bullshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Light

            Someone knocks on your door at a quarter to two, which is kind of a surprise because you weren't expecting anyone.  You'd been drinking with Karkat for the last two hours, watching shitty late night television and listening to him rant about the Daily Show, and you haven't exactly sobered up enough yet to deal with late night visitors.  Then again, it's probably just Karkat, unable to sleep or something, and he won't mind if you're a little drunk still.

            You swing the door open without looking through the peephole and find yourself looking at Dave, leaning against the doorframe as though he was born to do it, one hand in the pocket of his hoodie, the other raised as though he were about to knock again.  Immediately, you glance around for Dirk, but he's nowhere to be seen.

            "Hey," Dave says.  "Gonna let me in?"

            "Uh," is all you can manage, but you at least don't make a complete ass of yourself as you step aside to let him in.  You shouldn't be getting so tongue-tied by Dave any more, even if it's weird and a little off-putting to see him here by himself.  You'd always just assumed he and his brother were always together.

            Dave doesn't waste time, wandering over to your couch and flopping down on it.  You close the door and stare at him for a minute longer, until he turns his head and lifts his shades to look at you.  "Dude, are you like, fuckin' wax or somethin'?"

            "What are you doing here?" you ask, trying not to sound too freaked out.  You aren't, really, but any anxiety tends to amplify itself in your voice.  "I mean, it's... late."

            There's no response right away, and Dave lowers his shades.  You don't know how to take that, so you try not to read into it.  "Dirk's got a gentleman caller over, so I had to bail.  Figured you'd probably be unoccupied enough to entertain me, or somethin'.  If you're busy or whatever, I can go."

            "No, it's okay," you say immediately, coming around the coffee table to sit next to Dave on the couch.  He leans his shoulder against yours.  "I just didn't expect you - Dirk's with someone?"

            That surprises you, for some reason.  Dave just nods.  "Yeah," he says, and now you can kind of smell alcohol on his breath.  You wonder how drunk he had to get before you became a good idea.  "Equius.  His, uh.  That whole pony joke I made?  It wasn't really a joke."

            "Oh."

            Dave shuffles his feet, then puts them up on the coffee table.  His hand reaches up to grab at your hair, missing by a few inches before finally getting his fingers in, rubbing against your scalp.  You close your eyes instinctively.  "You cut your hair," Dave says.

            "Yeah."

            "I like it," he mumbles.  "Don't be mad at Dirk."

            "What?"  You open your eyes and look at him.

            "Like, him having boyfriends and stuff.  That's not gonna freak you out or something, right?"

            You wonder about it for a moment.  _Does_ it freak you out?  Do you feel inappropriately jealous or something?  You aren't dating either of them, so what does it matter if they have other partners?

            "I guess not," you say.

            "Okay," Dave says.  "Can you get me some water?  I'm super fuckin' drunk."

            "Yeah, okay."  You gently adjust him so that he won't topple over when you get up, and then move to the kitchen to find a glass.  "Drinking long?"

            "Yeah, I guess."  Dave groans and you can hear his back pop from here, and then he asks, "You been up to anythin' other than work?"

            "Uh."  You stop the faucet and turn back to the living room.  "Not really, I guess.  I'm always working."  Dave looks mildly disapproving, and you find yourself adding, "I hung out with K.K., I guess."  Dave blinks at you over his sunglasses, and you correct yourself.  "Karkat."

            "You already got pet names?  When's the wedding?"

            You smack Dave lightly upside the head as you sit down, then hold out the glass of water to placate him.  "Shut up."

            "Good luck gettin' on that dick," Dave adds after he gulps down water, "I tried like, three times.  If I can't do it, nobody can."

            "You've hit on K.K.?  _Seriously_?"  You don't know why, but the idea of that is just fucking ridiculous.  You're pretty sure Karkat is celibate or something.  Or maybe he just doesn't think about sex at all, unless it's to berate someone else about it.  "I'm not trying to 'get on' anything, anyway.  He's just a friend.  I can have those, you know.  I don't sleep with everyone I meet."

            "Statistically speaking, you do," Dave points out, "Since you sleep with us, an' you only met us an' like, Vantas over there.  Two out of three says..."

            "Oh, shut up," you say, and Dave kicks your ankle.  "Are Dirk and his, uh, boyfriend going to need a lot of time?"

            "Already tryin' to get rid of me?" Dave asks, teasing but strangely sincere at the same time.  You frown at him.

            "No, don't be stupid."

            "You don't be thtupid."  You smack him upside the head again, and he laughs and punches you in the shoulder.  "Wow, I can't help it if you've got a cute lispy thing goin' on, man.  I'm gonna mock the shit out of that kawaii crap."

            "Never mind what I said, I'm getting so tired of you."

            He gulps down some more water and then sets the glass aside, shifting so that he can slide his leg over your thighs, pressing his face into your arm.  He's fucking cuddling you, you realize, and even though you've been in situations kind of like this with him before, it's... weird.  Without Dirk here, with all your clothes on and no afterglow to blame it on, it feels strange.

            "Don't get tired of me, I got nowhere else to go."

            "Don't you have a boyfriend's place or something you can crash at?" you ask, your tone maybe a little too sharp for what you mean.  You shift your arm so that you can put it around his shoulders, just in case he takes you the wrong way.

            "Nah," he says, "Fuck that.  Just Dirk's.  And yours.  Thanks for the water."

            "No problem."

            He nuzzles your shoulder; you can feel him slipping into sleep.  You wonder about that.  He came over here literally to pass out on you?  Probably not - you can't imagine Dave coming to see you just so he can curl up on the couch and sleep on top of you.  He's probably just too drunk to try anything right now.

            "You want to go lie down?" you ask.  He shakes his head against your arm.

            "Not without my heating pad," he says, pressing his knuckles into your thigh briefly.  You don't respond quick enough, because he cracks open an eye and stares up at you.  "You, dumbass."

            "Oh."  You feel kind of really stupid for not getting that one.  "Sorry, I'm kind of drunk too, you know."

            "Vantas drinks a hard bargain."

            "Yeah, pretty much.  C'mon."  You nudge him until you can get out from under him, standing and then holding out your hands.  Dave grabs for you and you haul him off the couch; he steps forward into your arms, and then tries to shuffle-guide you to the bedroom.  "Wow, yeah, that's not going to work."

            "Shut up, old man," he says, "I know what I'm doin'."

            You let him keep up this hilariously awful attempt at moving for about ten more seconds before you have to pull yourself away.  He catches your hand and leans into you, and you don't question it.  You don't want to question it, at least, so you force yourself to keep moving, leading Dave into your bedroom.  Your sheets are pulling up on one corner, and you know that they're going to tangle up in your feet by the time you wake up, but Dave distracts you from it, pulling at the hem of your shirt.

            "Whoa, there," you say, and feel really stupid for it.

            "Nothin' to whoa here," he drawls, pulling your shirt up, "Just helpin' you out of your dumb clothes.  Don't be shy," he adds, giving you a sleazy grin that's too ridiculous to be sincere, "I've seen it all before."

            "Yeah, but I think I can handle my own shirt, thanks," you say, grabbing the hem from him and yanking your ratty tee off.  He whistles, kind of spluttering, and you reach over and flip off the lights before he can see you blushing like some kind of moron.  This is throwing you for a major loop - more than you expected - and you don't know if you like it.

            Dave needs some help with his own shirt, it turns out, and then he flops backwards into bed, struggling to pull off his shoes in the air.  You roll your eyes and help him, tossing them on top of his hoodie and shirt, and then strip down to your underwear while he shimmies out of his jeans.  You wonder for a moment if you should get completely undressed, but before you can agonize over your choices too much, Dave's reaching out and pulling you into bed with him.  He's still got his boxers on.

            "Fuck yeah," he says, "You're fuckin' hot."

            You roll your eyes and lie on your back.  Dave wastes no time in kicking up the sheets as he makes every effort to become your own living blanket.  You don't necessarily like cuddling all that much - having another person on top of you can get kind of suffocating - but Dave is a comfortable enough fit against you that you choose not to complain about it.

            Despite a few muffled noises, Dave falls asleep a lot faster than you really expected.  You're still a little too awake to follow, though, and so you end up lying half-under Dave as he sleeps, staring up at the dark ceiling.  You don't know what to think about this situation.  Shit.  You don't know what to think about your new situation at all, much less right fucking now.  You're not sure how to take the overtures from the Striders, and you don't know how to handle the fact that you're here with an attractive blond lying on top of you.  You sure as hell don't know how to read the fact that Dave came here, instead of hooking up with someone younger or more attractive - or at least, someone less _average_ than you.  You really don't understand the game plan.  You wonder if Dirk's boyfriend is younger than you, if he's attractive, if he's more interesting.  You wonder if Dave has anyone like that himself.

            "Stop squirmin'," Dave mumbles.

            "Sorry," you say, quiet, and try not to shift any more than necessary.  Dave doesn't say anything for a few more minutes, and you're pretty sure he's passed out again.

            "You okay?" he asks, reassuring you that you are pretty awful at reading him.

            "Yeah," you say.  "I'm fine."

            "Don't sound fine," he says, and then he's squirming against you until his chin is resting against your shoulder.  You manage not to look at him.  "What's up?"

            "Nothing, seriously.  I'm fine."

            "C'mon, gramps," Dave says, and you feel his foot brush against your calf as he shifts against you.

            "Don't call me that."  You really don't mean to snap, but you can't help it.  You don't want him pointing out the fact that you're almost a decade older than him, not when you're already so uncomfortable with it.

            Dave pushes himself on one elbow, resting his other arm across your chest as he peers down at you in the dark.  "Dude, I mean it ironically.  You're not even old.  You're thirty, not like, _sixty_."

            "Never mind, Dave.  Don't worry about it."

            "No, fuck that."  He presses his elbow down into the spot beside your head, then twists his wrist so that he can nudge your face towards his.  You try not to look.  "Sol, seriously?  Like, are we really doin' this shit right now."

            "No, we're not, because I'm not talking about it."

            "Yep, that's what I thought."  With a little stretch, Dave pushes himself over until he's straddling your hips, crouching low over you, forcing you to look at him.  "We are totally doin' this.  Sollux, do I look like someone who gives a shit about how old you are?"

            "Dave, get off me-"

            "No, asshole."  He doesn't look amused - or angry, actually.  He has a passive look on his face, kind of like Dirk's usual expression.  You don't know how to take it.  "Do I _look_ like someone who gives a shit about you being thirty?"

            "I don't -"  _Want to talk about it_ , you try to say, but Dave narrows his eyes just slightly and you're frozen to the spot.  You feel suddenly a lot younger and a lot stupider than him.  "...No, but-"

            "And do I look like someone who would come around to an ugly old man's place just to bring him cigarettes and shit?"

            "Dave..."

            "The answer is no, I do fuckin' not, because Dirk and I are picky sonsabitches.  So I'm gonna start gettin' really mad if you keep gettin' fuckin'... like, shy and shit on me, and actin' weird when I try takin' off your clothes or somethin'.  You always look so freaked out, man, what the fuck is up with that?"

            "It's..."

            You don't know how to even start.  Or _where_ to start.  What do you try to tackle first here, exactly?  And why does he care so goddamn much?

            "Look, I'm just.  You're - you and Dirk.  You're attractive enough to find someone less fucking stupid and gross, I haven't showered in almost three days, I don't leave the apartment unless it's to drink, I'm almost ten years older than you, I'm...  I'm."

            Dave's giving you a look that you're pretty sure could cut glass.  He looks completely unimpressed by what you're saying, and you don't know how to get past the brick wall he's throwing up at you.

            "I just don't get why you're always coming after me," you finish lamely.

            "Because you're hot, you idiot."  Dave leans down, so close that his nose presses against yours.  "I think you're hot, so as long as you're down for it, I'm gonna come around and fuck you senseless, and then I'm gonna use you as my own personal heated body pillow, straight from Japan, because you're hot and I _like you_.  I think you're just fuckin' fine the way you are, and the fact that I have to tell you this shit is kind of really stupid."

            "I know," you blurt out, catching yourself and biting your lip to keep from saying anything else.  You know you're being stupid and childish.  You shouldn't need a twenty-three-year-old reassuring you that he doesn't think you're some kind of weird pity fuck, or a prank, or something like that.  You are so fucking maladjusted, it's fucking ridiculous.

            "C'mon, babe," Dave says, and you would roll your eyes at the pet name if it didn't sound so sincere in his drunken Texan drawl.  "Don't bite your lip, you're gonna split it open."

            If you stop chewing, you're going to say something stupid.  But Dave is looking at you and you think he probably wants you to say something, and so you let your lip slide from between your teeth and say, "I just don't want this to be a joke."

            Dave looks fucking shocked.  You didn't even realize he could emote enough to look as completely baffled as he does right here and now, staring down at you with almost no space left between the two of you.

            "What?"

            You need to look away.  Or get away.  You need a cigarette, that's what you need.  And a plane ticket back to Boston, away from this stupid place and all of it's fucking complexity.  You need to be a shut-in who doesn't interact with people again, because people are fucking terrifying, especially when you fuck up and say something stupid.

            "I just..."

            "Do you think I'm fucking joking?" Dave asks, and _now_ he sounds mad.  You feel kind of stupid and young again, and maybe a little intimidated.  "Why would I be joking?  What the fuck kind of person do you think I am?"

            "I'm sorry," you say, and immediately you hate yourself for saying it.  It looks like it does the trick, though, because Dave's anger fades as abruptly as it came on.

            "Don't be sorry.  Just don't think I'm playing a game or something.  I mean, fuck.  I'm not trying to fucking marry you or anything, but seriously, I don't play pranks on people.  Neither does Dirk.  We're not trying to pull a fast one on you, so what's your issue?"

            "I don't know," you say, and you're pretty sure that's an honest answer.  "I'm just being stupid."

            "Damn right you are."  Dave looks at you for a moment longer, and then his eyes close and his mouth finds yours, just a little distance away.  You kiss him instinctively, like it's the one thing you know how to do, his mouth irresistible after all that talking.  You want a reason to shut up, and he's giving it to you, and you force yourself to not think so fucking hard about it.  Dave helps; even drunk, he still manages to draw all of your attention to him and the way he presses his lips against yours, running the tip of his tongue along your lower lip and encouraging you to open up.  He doesn't waste time with chastity, and you try not to think about how it always ends up like this - heated make outs, then sex, then him gone by noon.

            He pulls your lower lip with his teeth, then trails away, kissing the corner of your mouth, along your sharp cheekbone, a hand cupping your jaw, a thumb brushing across your temple near the corner of your eye.  You try to find his mouth again, to distract him, but his grip on you turns firm and immovable every time you tilt your head.  He kisses the spot behind your sideburn, then sucks on the shell of your ear, scraping his teeth just under the edge and making you gasp.  "Dave," you say, or try to, but you can only just breathe out the syllables and hope they stick.

            "Sollux," he murmurs against your ear, and then he grins.  He sucks on your earlobe and then kisses his way along your neck, stopping briefly to find your lips again, but he doesn't stay for long.  His hand slides back through your hair, then grips and pulls and you're forced to tilt your head backwards, and he sucks on your Adam's apple and kisses the base of your throat.

            You reach out a hand, but you don't know where to put it - you don't know what you're supposed to even do, when he's too far away to kiss - and so you end up tracing his shoulder blade, then the curve of his neck, drawing your fingers into his hair and petting in a daze.  You don't know what else to do.  Dave seems fine with it, though, making little appreciative noises against your collarbone, his hips rocking against yours as he shifts downwards on your body.  You groan and try to draw him back up for a kiss, try to reach for the elastic of his boxers, but he avoids your attempts smoothly.

            "Stop tryin' to return the favor," he says, looking up at you in the dark.  "Just enjoy it, okay?"

            "Dave-"

            "Just relax."  He grabs your wrist lightly, pulling your hand away from him, pressing it into the sheets, and when he pulls away you leave it there.  He doesn't make you move the other, partially gripping his shoulder, and you're thankful for that.  You need some kind of anchor.  He kisses and licks his way down the center of your chest, pausing to swirl his tongue against one nipple, and when he just barely grazes it with his teeth you gasp, twisting your hips under him.

            " _Dave_ ," you say again, but this time you aren't going to try and stop him.  He just grins against your chest, then moves to give attention to the other side, dragging his fingers along your sides at the same time and making you twitch under him.  He trails his tongue down to the dip where your ribcage ends, the small sunken bit of your body that makes you look even more emaciated than you really are whenever you lie on your back, and he doesn't say anything about it.  His knee slips over your thigh, between them now, and he presses his leg between yours, rocking a little, drawing another breathless attempt at his name.

            "Fuckin' hell, Sollux," he says, and you wonder what he's going to critique - how skinny you are, probably, because he and Dirk both take issue with it, or maybe the thick trail of hair from your bellybutton down, or the way your knees are jabbing against him with every twitch.  "You're so fuckin' hot," is what he says instead, and you don't know how to respond.  "I love feelin' you squirm."

            "I don't get it," is all you can say.  You know that's not the right answer, but you can't help it.  Dave mumbles against your stomach, then shimmies lower on top of you, his fingers finding the elastic of your underwear, pulling gently, his mouth finding the spot between your hip and thigh, kissing through the fabric, making his way across until he finds the outline of your dick and mouths at it through your underwear.  You don't remember how to breathe.  He works his way from head to base, mouthing and licking at cotton, his hands pressing down against your hips, fingers still hooked around the elastic.  You think you say something, but you can't be sure.

            A hand drags down, the heel pressing right against the base, rubbing upwards with just enough pressure to drive you fucking crazy, and then he says, "You are so fuckin' hot.  I love your dick.  I would pay to suck it for a weekend straight.  I'd pay to make you squirm and roll your hips like this all fucking night, and you don't even fuckin' get it, do you?"

            "No," you admit, too breathless to hesitate.  You want him to stop talking and take off your underwear and wrap his mouth around your cock.  "Dave, please..."

            "You got it," he says, and despite the flippancy it sounds so goddamn sincere that you don't know what to do.  He pulls your underwear down, only enough to pull you out, exhaling in such a way that you think he might actually be more grateful for the move than you are.  You tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling, and when Dave licks a long, broad stripe along the bottom of your dick, his thumb rubbing across the slit and that warm metal ball pressing against the oversensitive skin, you put your knuckles between your teeth to keep from shouting.  "What," you hear him say, his breath against your cock doing awful things to you, "You afraid someone's gonna hear?"

            "Yeah," you whisper, "Shit, Dave, please-"

            "Not until you put that hand down, babe.  I'm not gonna let your neighbors rob me of this fuckin' pleasure."

            You groan and kick at him as best you can, which isn't very well at all, and then drop your hand back to the sheets, twisting them in your grip.  Dave makes a pleased noise and wraps his hand around the base of your dick, flat against your skin, and you gnaw on your lip until his mouth finds the head of your cock and sucks on it, his tongue swiping across the slit, his lips sealing just under the flared ridge, and you gulp down air like a fish, gasping and squirming against the sheets.

            He takes way too fucking long to slide his mouth down your length, and you know you're barely going to be able to hold on at this rate.  When he uses the barest edge of his teeth, sliding them faintly against the vein on the underside of your cock, you let out a low, long moan and pull at the sheets.  His hand pins your hips down.  "Dave, _fuck_ , please-"

            He slides his mouth off.  "Gonna have to get louder than that," he says, teasingly, tauntingly, and you drag your hand across your face, up into your hair, then to the pillow.

            "Someone's going to hear," you say.

            "What am I gonna have to do, pin you down in _my_ bed to get you screamin'?"  His hand wraps around you and strokes, heavy, a little sloppy, but firmly, and you groan and writhe and manage to just barely buck your hips.  You don't respond, and he continues, "Is that it?  Somewhere where nobody you'll ever see can hear you, right?  Like at the hotel.  Do you know what you fuckin' did to me in there?  You were a hot fuckin' wreck, so goddamn loud, begging me and Dirk to fuck you, andyou were so _tight_ \- just thinkin' about fuckin' you on that bed gets me hard.  I'm gonna take that memory to the goddamn grave."

            "Dave," you gasp.  He pauses to swipe his tongue against the soft bump beneath the slit, and you yelp and buck against him.

            "That's more like it," he murmurs, and then his hand is moving again, jerking you off, letting you buck and thrust into his hand.  You feel him breathing against the shaft and you want him to finish sucking you off, but you're already so close that it won't matter, nothing matters except for his hand on your dick and his voice, saying, "Come on, Sollux, come for me, baby, you're gorgeous, come on-"

            Your back bows forward, your elbows propping you up as you hunch forward, and you dig your knees into his sides as you come.  You're sobbing out something that you think is Dave's name, but it could be anything - all you hear is white noise, and all you see is Dave, his mouth open, you coming across his face and in his mouth, his eyes fixed on you, burning hot and dilated.  You gasp and shudder and then fall back; Dave sits up on his knees, between your legs, and wipes the back of his hand across his face.

            "Shit.  Sorry," is the first thing you think to say.

            "Are you kiddin' me?  That was fuckin' amazing," Dave murmurs, licking his hand clean before reaching for the tissue box next to your bed.  He cleans you off first, which you shouldn't find as charming as you do, and then he wipes at his face, tossing the used tissues to the floor before climbing up to curl against you.  "That better be the last time you second guess my intentions," he says, sliding his leg across yours.  You can feel him against you, painfully turned on, but he doesn't bring it up.

            "If that's what I get for it," you say with a low chuckle, "I don't think you really did a good job deterring me, there."

            "Shut up."

            He kisses your shoulder instead of punching it, and you feel compelled to ask, "Do you want...?"

            "Nah, I'm fuckin' exhausted.  I came over to get my prime cuddles on, you know."

            You hadn't known that.  You'd suspected he'd wanted to get laid.  "Oh."

            "Maybe later," he mumbles, exhaling.  Despite his words, he rocks his  hips a little against your leg.  You chuckle again and smooth out his hair.

            "Later," you promise.

            You're not sure who falls asleep first, but nonetheless you wake up six hours later, rolled on your side.  You're used to only getting a little bit of sleep at a time, and so six hours winds up feeling like a lot like ten, and it doesn't take you long to come to terms with your surroundings.  Dave is lying on his back next to you, one leg pinned between yours, his arm curled around your shoulders.  He's spread out, kind of pushing you near the edge, his mouth open just barely.  He looks fucking adorable, and you don't berate yourself for thinking that.

            The hand not wrapped around you is resting just beneath the elastic of his boxers.  You reach out a hand, drawing it lazily across his chest; when you brush your fingers across a nipple, his hips twitch.  You think you see his eyelids flutter.

            "Dave," you whisper.  He doesn't respond, except when you rub your fingers along his collar bone, earning another shift in his hips.  You lean into his side and kiss his temple, then his mouth, only pausing there briefly before you make your way along his jaw.  He mumbles and you can't help but grin a little.  He doesn't have the same heavy shadows under his eyes that Dirk has - you can only imagine it's because he sleeps a lot longer and a lot deeper than his brother does.  That's fine by you, you suppose.  It gives you time to look at him in the light filtering through your blinds.

            He's not nearly as skinny as you, all lean muscle with a few faint scars here and there; you remember seeing some swords hanging on the wall at his place, and you can't help but wonder if he and Dirk have taken those things for a test drive.  You hope not, because you're not sure you can reconcile the two gorgeous brothers with such a stupid fucking idea.

            Dave has pale eyelashes, which you never really noticed before, but they make him look a little delicate.  You don't know how to feel about that, other than maybe like you're sharing a secret joke with the universe, because you know he's not delicate by any stretch of the imagination.  His lips are still a little flushed, and you bite your own lip as you remember last night more clearly.

            You think you're supposed to be deciding that he's too young to know better about you.  You're pretty sure that's where you'd be at if he hadn't gotten on your case about your stupid insecurities.  But he _did_ get on your case, and now all you can assume is that he knows full fucking well what he said, and he knows just how he feels about you, so who fucking cares?

            He'd been drunk, of course, but hopefully not _that_ drunk.

            His hand shifts further beneath the elastic and you can see how hard he is.  You still feel kind of bad for not getting him off the night before, but he'd been the one to insist on it.  Now that you're more awake and aware of your surroundings, though, you're not about to make him ask you for a morning fuck - what are you, a bad host?  Fuck that.

            You grin a little, your teeth scraping the raw edge of your mouth from where you've gnawed the skin down, and you gently nudge his head to the side, cupping his cheek a bit like he had done to you as you lean in to suck on his earlobe.  You maneuver your unpinned hand back along his stomach, stopping to trace the faint ridges of a long, white scar across his side, and Dave makes this strange, soft sound, too asleep to form anything other than a small exhaled "ah."

            "Dave," you whisper into his ear, reaching his wrist and gently pulling his hand out of his boxers, pressing it lightly into the sheets.  When you move your hand, his twitches, but doesn't follow.  
            You're too close to miss the brief movements of his eyelashes, and you wonder how awake he really is.  You trace the elastic band clinging to his skin, and he rolls his hips a little under you.  You take it as encouragement and slip your hand beneath the cotton, trailing your fingertips down the dip between his thigh and pelvis, hearing him exhale again.  He tries to suck the noise back in as your hand wraps around his dick, light, teasing him as you give him a few half-assed strokes.

            "Mmh," you hear him groan.  His voice is ragged and thick with sleep, but his hand curls against the sheets and you know he's awake.  You tighten your grip, firm but still slow as you stroke, and his back arches a little off the mattress.

            "This okay?" you ask.  You press the pad of your thumb just under the head and he moans, too breathily to be real, and manages the smallest incline of his head.

            You spend a few minutes like that, stroking him lazily and watching the way his back twists and his hips roll, his whole body weighed down with sleep like he doesn't want to wake up at all, and you wonder if he thinks this is a dream.  He makes a few noises, all ragged and quiet, unable to crack his voice enough to speak up, and you find yourself pressing your hips against the leg pinned between yours, not so much hard as just turned on by the sight of him.  You still need to wake up a little more before you can join in any real capacity.

            He groans when you stop to give your wrist a break, frustrated, and then he mumbles out, "Sol, please..."

            You remember when he pleaded with you to fuck him in the hotel room, and the memory spurs you on to ask, "Want me to use my mouth?"  You don't even think about how embarrassing it is to talk like that.  There's something about whispering in the morning that makes it seem okay.

            "Yes," he hisses.  You take a few moments to maneuver your arm out from under him, slipping away without losing your grip around him, stroking still casually and making him gasp in frustration, and then you carefully pull at his boxers until you get them off.  You remember thinking that his eyelashes made him seem delicate, and you grin again at the thought.

            You rest your knees against the mattress and bend over Dave, briefly planting a string of kisses against his stomach and his hip bone, and then you lick the tip of his cock and draw a harsh gasp from Dave.  You look up, but he looks to still have his eyes closed, and after a few seconds of you licking at the head, Dave's hand comes to rest in your hair, threading through it but not pulling or pushing.  You swallow more of him down, hollowing your cheeks and moving your tongue against his dick as he quietly gasps and moans.  His fingers press against your skull like he wants to grab hold but just can't bring himself to do it, and you find yourself wishing he would.

            You don't quite get all of him into your mouth, but you know you can.  You just like hearing how he gasps and feeling how he squirms beneath you.  He moans your name, and then whispers, "I'm gettin' close," in this pained sort of voice that goes straight through you.  You slide a hand between your legs and find yourself hard, already leaking a little, and you hum against his dick when you touch yourself.  He arches his back and says, " _Sollux_ ," and you jerk your hips into your hand as you pull your mouth off his dick.  "Please, Sol, fuck-"

            "I'm going to," you say, your breath hitching.  "Just don't make me hold you down.  I..."  Shit.  You feel like a fucking ass for even thinking about saying this, because it's not your forte, but fuck it.  Dave seems to like this kind of shit, so, "I want to feel you come against the back of my throat.  Do you want that?"

            Dave's brows furrow - even with your bad eyesight, it's hard to miss - and he _whines_ , curling his fingers in your hair almost enough to pull.  "Oh, God," he says, his voice cracking through the sleepiness at last, "Oh, _God_ , fuck yes."

            "Okay," you say.  You're already close.  You don't have the stamina Dave has, but you don't care.  You grip the base of his dick and wrap your lips around him, taking him as far as you can before you have to relax your throat, and then you exhale slow and swallow.  Dave's hips twitch, but he doesn't buck into your mouth, and you're seriously fucking thankful because you haven't properly done this in years.

            You move your hand from his hip briefly, reaching up to cover the hand resting in your hair, and you coax him into guiding you, pulling back and then pressing down against the back of your head, guiding you back down, and when he gets it, you put your hand back against him and try to keep yourself steady.  Even on your knees, your legs feel shaky, and you groan against his dick as you pump your hand faster against your own erection, rocking your hips.  Your ears are filling with white noise as you try to keep from coming so soon, your throat vibrating as you groan and suck on Dave's dick, his hand encouraging you to go faster.  You hear him panting, and then moaning, and then he starts babbling, "Sollux, fuck, please, I wanna, I wanna, _please_ , I'm gonna come, you're so good at this, fuck-"

            It's the delirium in his voice that sets you off, and you buck into your hand as you come, your cries muffled and almost choked by Dave's cock, twitching and so fucking close in your mouth, and you meant it, you really did, you want to feel him come in your mouth.  His hand fists in your hair and his hips roll and you try hard not to gag completely as the head of his dick brushes up against the back of your throat just as he starts to come.  He cries out, " _Jesus **fuck**_!" so loud that you _know_ someone's going to have heard him, but you don't care.  You just swallow everything he gives you, and when you're done you lick his cock clean.

            He's still babbling a little as you do that, his hand petting your hair, smoothing it back, and you try not to just collapse right then and there.  Six hours isn't enough for this.  Dave pulls at your shoulders until you climb back to lie beside him, and he strokes your cheek and looks you dead in the eye.

            "You are fucking amazing," he says.  "Fuck, Sollux."

            "I guess," you reply, and he punches your shoulder and then kisses you.  You push him away and make a face.  "Wow, no, you taste like something died in your mouth.  What did you drink last night, Drain-o?"

            "Nah," he says, then grins and continues, "Just about a million unborn Sollux clones."  You shove him right off the bed, into a pile of laundry, and he laughs the whole way down.  "Your _face_ ," he cackles, and you throw a pillow at him.

            " _Your_ face," you respond with entirely fake venom, and that just makes his laughter worse.  You can't help but feel like laughing a little too, especially when he forcibly hauls himself back onto the bed with just his hands.  He looks at you, and for the first time you think _he's twenty-three_ without an awful pang of guilt in your stomach, and you figure that he probably is one-hundred percent to blame for that lack of self-loathing.  You'll get him back for it later - right now, though, you need a fucking shower.

            You end up needing two, when the first one turns out to be completely and utterly the opposite of cleansing.  That one, you _know_ is completely Dave's fault, but you really don't mind.


End file.
